I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, he says. About my unique qualities and talents and all that. You’re right. I am unique and talented. And you’re unique, too. We’re both unique. Everyone is unique. In a way, I say. But unique just means unique. It doesn’t mean good.

It was so nice and uncomplicated. When I wasn’t sleeping I ran around and was excited. I never walked. I ran.

Elevators are brilliant. I’m going to stand here a little longer. The good thing about riding in an elevator as a grown-up is that nobody questions my being in the elevator. Nobody suspects me of just riding the elevator. I look like I’m one of the others.

We’re born alone and we die alone. It’s just a question of getting used to both of them.

It’s good for me to see so many other people who are not me. That there are so many others. I feel affection for them. Most of them are doing the best they can. I am also doing the best I can.

I’m saying it’s strange when you meet someone. That it’s a new planet.

It’s dark and it’s cold and I stoke the fire like a madman to keep warm. One.

I still don’t know if things fit together, or if everything will be all right in the end. But I believe that something means something. I believe in cleansing the soul through fun and games. I also believe in love. And I have several good friends, and just one bad one.

When the universe is ephemeral, one can easily feel that human existence is meaningless. Why should I do anything at all? On the other hand it is tempting to try and make the best of it. I’m here, anyway. The imagination won’t cope if I try to picture where I’d otherwise be.

I think I’m more concerned with things that are very big and things that are very small than with all the stuff in between.